


Heat

by Bullfinch



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:09:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris proposes something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this amazing fanart](http://la-bordeliere.tumblr.com/post/120306745953/quickest-doodles-of-my-life), although that's not _quite_ what happens here...
> 
> As always, Fenris is trans. It doesn't come into play very much in this story but I wanted to mention it.

Fenris comes out of the washroom still naked. Hawke isn’t looking; he’s sitting on the covers, folding a pile of clean clothes. He may not be inclined to do anything tonight.

But Fenris doubts that. While he’s turned Hawke down a few times, the reverse has never occurred. So he climbs on the bed, kneels behind Hawke, and wraps both arms around his waist.

“Mm.” Hawke lays a pair of socks on his careful pile. “Hello.”

Fenris presses against his back and kisses his shoulder, his neck.

Hawke slumps a little, the laundry forgotten. He can tell where this is going. Fenris slips a hand beneath the waistband of his underclothes, tracing the seam of his crotch with the lightest of touches. Hawke shivers against him. Good. He slips lower.

Hawke is soft but growing, and Fenris grips him gently, coaxing him to hardness. A sharp breath, and Hawke’s back arches up for a brief moment before he presses himself into Fenris again. Fenris tightens his arm around Hawke’s waist and strokes him more firmly now—his cock hardening, full and heavy in Fenris’s palm. “Mm—“ Hawke reaches out, grasps Fenris’s thigh. His hands are warm and rough, and _big._ Fenris likes being grabbed, most nights.

Tonight he has something different in mind.

His free hand travels up Hawke’s chest and stomach, fingers sliding through the dense, dark curls of hair. He builds a steady rhythm, not too fast but none too slow either, Hawke’s soft foreskin sliding with the motion. Little noises escape Hawke now and then, which is what Fenris loves more than anything—to dismantle the thoughtful, reserved man he follows around Kirkwall and its environs day after day, to make him vulnerable, to make him _need._

At last Hawke twists around, holds Fenris’s face, and kisses him deeply.

Fenris returns the kiss, although he takes the chance to pull out the laces of Hawke’s underclothes and grasp him again. Hawke gasps into his mouth, and Fenris grins at it—but then he leans away and takes his hands back, because they need to talk about this. “Hawke.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Yes? What is it?”

“Would you let me penetrate you?”

A pause. Hawke lifts an eyebrow, somewhere between surprise and skepticism—but that all fades quickly. “You want to do that?”

“Yes,” Fenris replies, unflinching. “If you would be willing to try it.”

Hawke thinks another moment. Then: “All right. Go ahead.”

“Are you sure? You seem—hesitant.”

“I’m sure. I just hadn’t thought about it before.”

Fenris waits until Hawke gets the hint and elaborates. “I _promise_ I want to. I don’t know why I hesitated, it was stupid.”

Fenris smiles a little. “Will it be your first time?”

A laugh. “No, no it won’t. Just the first time in a long time. Here, hang on a moment.”

He goes to the bureau and rummages, coming up with a clear vial. Fenris has never seen it—they’ve never used oil, he gets plenty wet enough with a few minutes of teasing. Hawke tosses it through the air, and he catches it in one hand, removing the stopper and placing it on the night table. The crystal glitters in the candlelight.

Hawke puts his hands on his hips. “How d’you want me?”

“Naked, for one.”

“Good point.” Hawke slides his underclothes down and slips them off, kicking them to one side. Fenris sits back and just looks at him a moment.

Not elflike in build by any stretch of the imagination. Broad at the hips and shoulders, his arms and thighs thick with muscle, his chest and stomach coated in fine, dark hair. And with a grin plastered on his face. “Are you ogling me?”

“It’s hard to resist it.” He beckons. “Come. I want you on your knees.”

Hawke’s grin disappears—displaced not by trepidation or unease, but by…something else. Fenris can’t quite read it. Still, he climbs on the bed readily, settling on his knees, faced away Fenris. “Is that all right?”

Fenris runs a hand up his smooth back, then presses gently. “Lean down.”

Hawke obeys. He arches a little, resting his elbows on the bed.

Fenris can’t help but chuckle. “You’re right, this does seem a bit strange.”

“See? Now you know why I had to think about it!”

“If you want to do something else, you only have to say.”

“No, I want to keep going.”

“Very well.”

Fenris tips the vial into his cupped hand, then places it next to its stopper. He smears the oil on his fingers and comes up behind Hawke, reaching down between his legs.

Fenris grasps him, slicking the oil over his foreskin.

His hips roll, his cock sliding forward. Fenris smiles. “Go ahead.”

Hawke rests his forehead on his arm and starts fucking into Fenris’s hand. Short, even thrusts, except for when he tilts his hips and drags the underside of his cock along Fenris’s fingers, seeking the friction. The strangeness is evaporating quickly. Fenris likes seeing him like this—relaxed, indulging in his own pleasure. Which he certainly is at the moment. His cock is swollen and heavy, and quiet noises of satisfaction escape him now and then, his great body swaying as he ruts into Fenris’s hand.

But they haven’t even gotten started on the main event, so Fenris lets go of him. “Are you ready?”

A breathy “Yes.”

No hesitation this time. That’s good. Fenris avails himself of the vial again, then sits back on his feet. He finds himself incongruously nervous. There isn’t any reason for it—he’s been thinking about this for some time.

And now he’s going to make it a reality. He cups Hawke’s erection and with the other hand starts circling his hole.

A sharp inhalation. “Relax,” Fenris murmurs. “It’s only me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

It seems Fenris isn’t the only one who’s nervous. So he strokes Hawke, gliding easily over his thick shaft. Seeing it like this, he’s amazed sometimes that it fits in him. But it does, and with frequency. Still he circles the hard ring of muscle, now shining with oil.

“Do it, Fenris,” Hawke breathes.

Eager now. Interesting. Fenris obliges him and slips inside.

Hawke is slippery and tight around him, and warm. “Mmh. Maker.”

Fenris leans aside. “Is that all right?”

“Yes. It’s—“ Hawke looks over his shoulder. “It’s good.”

He isn’t stretched—Fenris’s finger is slim, after all. Still, Fenris does not wish to rush this, both for Hawke’s sake and his own. He tightens his grip, and Hawke moans, fucking again into Fenris’s hand, his foreskin bunching at the base as the crown slips free. Fenris pushes in deeper, past the ring of muscle, and slides his finger over Hawke’s inner walls until he finds that firm spot—

 _“Oh,_ fuck me.”

Fenris chuckles. “I assume this feels good.”

“Yes. Maker. It’s been so bloody long.”

“Mm.” Fenris teases his prostate, rubbing it in small, slow circles. Hawke has stilled by now, so Fenris starts jerking him again, dragging his foreskin down until it stretches around his crown.

“F-f—“

“Hm?”

“Fuck.”

“Ah.”

“Fuck, that’s nice.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Fenris draws his finger halfway out and pushes in again. Not quite so tight anymore. For a few moments, he fucks Hawke gently, still stroking his cock with a loose grip, allowing him to get used to the intrusion. The tension drains out of Hawke’s body, and he slides his arms out, resting more comfortably on the bed. Fenris leans forward to kiss his lower back.

Hawke’s skin rumbles under Fenris’s lips as he speaks. “You can—you can give me more.”

A bloom of delight opens in Fenris’s chest. He contains it, and asks, “Are you sure? You said it had been a while.”

“I’m sure. Please.”

“As you wish.”

He withdraws and presses two fingers this time to Hawke’s ass—only for Hawke to rock toward him, trying to take him in. Fenris pulls away. “You’d best let me do this. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Fine,” Hawke mumbles, and stills.

Fenris does not penetrate him yet, only teases, pushing not quite hard enough to breach him before backing off, instead rubbing the oil over his hole. With the other hand he slips Hawke’s foreskin down past his head and draws quick circles on the underside of his shaft, just below the crown—Hawke’s hips buck, and he moans, rolling against Fenris’s hand. This spot is particularly sensitive, and Fenris rather enjoys teasing it without mercy, especially since it provokes such strong reactions. He continues to tease it now, not stopping even when Hawke grabs at the sheets, bracing himself against the bed, gritting out “Ah, Maker, _fuck—“_

Then he gasps as Fenris finally enters him.

Smoothly and all at once, until he’s sunk in to the knuckle. He brushes his fingertips over Hawke’s prostate, applying a little pressure—just a little; he wants this to last. He takes Hawke’s shaft in a firm grip and jerks him with slow, decisive strokes.

“Fuck.” Quiet and breathy, almost a whine. “That feels good, that feels so good…”

Struck by a sudden need to see him crumble even further, Fenris crooks his fingers and tightens his grip, doubling his pace. Hawke lets out a broken shout, his legs opening as he starts fucking into Fenris’s hand and back against his fingers, impaling himself with short, desperate motions of his hips.

“Hawke,” Fenris says. Distantly he notes how rough his voice is, how frayed with lust.

“Hm—mm—what?” Hawke asks, not bothering to stop rocking his hips and spearing himself on Fenris’s fingers.

“Turn over.”

Hawke sags slightly in disappointment. Fenris doesn’t pull out, because he wants to see this, to see—Hawke crawling forward, his hole sliding over Fenris’s fingers until they pop free. Then he lies on his back and spreads his legs. Fenris rests a palm on his stomach, lines himself up—

“Wait, can you—can you come here?”

Hawke’s propped up on his elbows. It takes Fenris a moment to figure it out; then he leans down.

The kiss is soft for only a fraction of a second before Hawke’s lips open up and it turns hungry and frantic. Hawke makes little noises of need into Fenris’s mouth, a tactic which is very hard to resist; so Fenris goes between their bodies and grasps him.

 _“Ah—“_ Hawke buries his face in Fenris’s neck and thrusts into his hand.

Fenris lets him, for a few moments. He’s seen Hawke unbearably aroused, when teased along a knife’s edges at Fenris’s leisure; but never this _needy._

Fenris wants more of it, now. He reaches down and penetrates Hawke again.  

Hawke arches, his head falling back. His feet are planted on the bed, and he fucks himself shallowly on Fenris’s fingers. Then he raises his head and gazes up at Fenris—

Yes. Needy. Fenris wonders if that’s how he looks when Hawke is fucking him. No wonder the man’s sexual appetite is so prodigious.

He can’t wait any longer, so he crawls back and lies between Hawke’s legs, kissing the base of his cock. At the head of the bed Hawke murmurs his name.

Fenris leaves a trail of loving kisses up Hawke’s shaft, lingering a moment on each, his tongue gliding over Hawke’s foreskin to connect them. When he takes the head in his mouth he curls his fingers into Hawke’s prostate at the same time and hears something that might be a whimper from higher up the bed. The taste of salt spills onto his tongue. Close already. He sinks down, locking his lips to the soft foreskin—Hawke as thick as ever, filling his mouth. But it isn’t enough. Hawke’s tip hits the entrance of his throat. More.

It takes an effort, but he manages to push himself down until Hawke enters his throat and slides deeper, deeper—but he has to come up, coughing. _Venhedis._ A murmured stream of _“Fenris, Fenris, fuck”_ makes its way down to him. Again. He must try again. He captures Hawke in his mouth and sinks down, faster this time, until the tip hits his throat—pushes his fingers in too, as deep as they’ll go, and draws circles on Hawke’s prostate. A drawn-out groan.

Fenris inhales and takes Hawke into his throat.

More. Still more. He pushes himself lower, the firm shaft unyielding against his stretched lips, until he’s completely filled and Hawke is hilted inside him.

There. _That’s_ what he wanted.

He fights the urge to cough, savoring the sensation of having his lover sheathed entirely in his straining throat. Hawke has propped himself up on an elbow, and they find each other over plane of his body. Fenris’s eyes lock with Hawke’s as his brow knits with effort and he keeps himself impaled on Hawke’s thick length, a tear spilling down his cheek.

But he can’t stay for much longer before he must come up again, and his chest heaves as he gulps in breaths. Hawke has fallen back to the bed and gone quiet. Fenris scrubs away the tears and rasps out, “How are you doing?”

“Trying very hard not to come,” Hawke mumbles.

Fenris laughs, coughing to clear his throat. “You can, if you like. I don’t mind.”

“I want this to last as long as I can possibly manage it.”

“Then I wish you luck. I suspect you will need it.”

“Oh, you bastard.”

Fenris answers by taking Hawke into his mouth again.

This time he does not descend, only sucks, laving Hawke’s head with his tongue, nudging the foreskin down to expose it. The taste of salt once more. Not much time left. With his free hand he cups Hawke’s balls, squeezing and stroking gently.

He has a plan.

With reluctance he relinquishes Hawke’s cock, now red and swollen with arousal, Precum pulses from the slit and mixes with the shining saliva that coats the head and drips down the shaft. Fenris continues thrusting into Hawke as he speaks, the ring of muscle now much more relaxed around him. “I’m going to try something.”

“Mm. Good. Fine.”

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Got it.”

He takes Hawke’s head in his mouth once again, his lips locking just below the crown, Hawke’s balls heavy in his hand. It will not be the first time he’s tried this—he’s tested it on himself a few times. His markings give off heat when drawn upon, even if that power is not being used to fight his enemies or to turn him into a ghost. During previous experiments, it took a deliberate effort to generate enough such that it might become painful; otherwise the effect is somewhat mild.

Depending on where it is applied, of course.

Again Fenris slides deep into Hawke—so easy by this point, and he could probably use three fingers but decides to save that for another time. Instead he rubs Hawke’s prostate, more deliberately now, making Hawke’s folded-up legs tense to either side of him—thorough, relentless strokes that provoke a series of gasps and bitten-off curses.

All right. Fenris takes a long breath through his nose—his lips are still locked around Hawke’s shaft—and focuses.

The markings in his fingers come to life.

He can feel the heat welling in the lyrium, a sensation aside from the warmth of Hawke’s body. There’s a split-second of silence before Hawke’s legs jerk and he babbles out “Fuck, Fenris, _fuck—“_

Fenris’s eyes widen in surprise as salty ropes of seed spurt into the back of his throat, and he just manages not to cough. Hawke fucks into his mouth with long, even thrusts, and Fenris lets him, remaining just where he is, rubbing his fingers over that firm spot deep inside Hawke—to be rewarded with another jet of seed, and he’s better prepared this time to swallow it down. Hawke’s balls are tight and drawn in Fenris’s hand, and he lets out a low, primal moan, his hips still bucking up into Fenris’s face. A third jet, not so forceful this time, and Hawke’s thrusts spread it slick over Fenris’s tongue.

With every passing second in which Hawke continues to come Fenris grows more and more impressed. His own climaxes have lasted this long, but—more seed spills onto his tongue—never any of Hawke’s. He keeps his lips sealed tight around Hawke’s shaft as the pumping of his hips at last begins to slacken, until finally he falls back to the bed and gasps out, “Please, Fenris, I can’t, I can’t, please—“

Fenris swallows once more and rises off of Hawke’s softening cock, wiping his mouth. With care he slides his fingers out of Hawke’s pliant hole, watching with some satisfaction as it closes slowly. Hawke lies as if dead, although he blinks now and then at the ceiling. Still alive, then. Good. Fenris pats his thigh. “I will return in just a moment.”

He goes and washes his hands, filling a cup with water from the pitcher and draining it to soothe his sore throat. Then he refills it and brings it out. “Here. For you.”

Hawke only gazes at him for a few seconds. But with some effort, he manages to sit up, taking the water and drinking it down. As he does so Fenris climbs into the bed beside him, slipping under the blankets. He is waiting for Hawke to finish, in order to crawl on top of him; instead, Hawke sets the glass down, gets under the covers, and drapes himself over Fenris.

Fenris, having not in the least bit expected this, doesn’t quite know what to say. “Er—oh.”

“Mm?” Hawke looks up, sleepy, as is often the case after he climaxes.

“Nothing. It’s just that normally I’m the one wrapped around you.”

“Oh. D’you want me to move? ‘m I squashing you or anything?”

“No, not at all. Stay.”

Hawke once again settles his head on Fenris’s shoulder. “Just give me a few minutes to recover. Then I can return the favor.”

“No, it’s all right.” Fenris rests an arm on his back. “I’m perfectly fine. I prefer having you here.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” He turns his face into Fenris’s chest. “So, I don’t know if you could tell.”

“Hm?”

“But that was bloody amazing.”

Fenris smiles at the ceiling. “You did seem to enjoy it quite a bit.”

“I thought I’d died and been sent to dwell for eternity at the Maker’s side. What did you do? Your markings?”

“Indeed.”

Hawke lets out a loopy chuckle. “Well. Didn’t know they could be used like that.”

Fenris strokes his his hair. “Would you be interested in doing it again?”

Hawke shifts so he can kiss Fenris’s neck. “Only if you had as much fun as I did,” he murmurs.

“Mm. Maybe not _quite_ as much fun, but it was extremely gratifying.”

“Excellent.” Hawke wraps an arm around Fenris’s middle and squeezes him a little. “Maker, I love you.”

“And I love you.”

There’s no reply. That Hawke managed to stay awake this long after climax is already somewhat remarkable. Fenris rubs his back in wide, slow circles. Hawke presses a sleepy kiss to his chest.

Fenris shuts his eyes. He falls asleep with Hawke breathing quietly against him.


End file.
